


Fractus

by natsora



Series: The Long Road Home [3]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Catra whump, Combat, F/F, Graphic medical procedures, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Panic Attack, Post-Season 5, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26874724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natsora/pseuds/natsora
Summary: A simple mission goes bad. Catra battles a giant Machine and barely walks away. When Adora's healing powers doesn't work, she struggles to keep it together as she watches Catra suffers through treatment she needs to stay alive.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Catra & Melog (She-Ra)
Series: The Long Road Home [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916752
Comments: 18
Kudos: 214





	Fractus

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from Cory - <https://tenor.com/view/cheetah-love-kiss-lick-gif-16254401>
> 
> Look at the prompt, it's fluffy, but the whump got out of hand. This is more of my usual levels of whump so check the tags and be warned.

It was supposed to be their day off. Catra fumed and kicked the rock off her path. And what the fuck Adora had to do? Volunteer for more work of course. Yes, she recognised the work was necessary, but couldn’t it just be tagged onto the regular work day? Haul a little less rocks and rubble, and scout out the camp’s surroundings a little more?

Catra sighed. She had been looking forward to their day off. Beyond being able to just chill out, she could, you know, just hang out with Adora, doing nothing all day. But no… That dumbass had to volunteer. She couldn’t just let Adora do all the work by herself. That woman was more likely to work herself to death if given the slightest chance. 

“How does the saying goes?” Catra asked out loud. Melog didn’t even bother to glance in her direction. His… her… Catra frowned. “Melog, I’ve not asked before but are you a boy or a girl?”

At this Melog stopped and stared at her. His…her… their eyes, a luminous bright turquoise, blinked at her impassively. Catra waited and tried to feel the impressions Melog sent her. They didn’t read each other’s mind per se. It felt more like having a vague impression of what Melog meant, something that was more like to having the ability to read each other’s body language with an accuracy that verged on speech. 

“Hmmm.” Catra grunted. Melog’s mane settled into a brighter turquoise as her own frustration eased. “All right, non-binary it is.”

Catra walked a little further and kicked at more rocks. “Now where the fuck was I?” Sighing, she folded her arms across her chest and stalked down the path. “Right, being angry.”

So she was supposed to investigate the forest their camp was situated in, going beyond the first five hundred metres perimeter they had established when they first set it up. Ranging through such a wide area alone was foolish. So Adora took Swift Wind and she Melog. This particular quadrant had been reporting strange noises and lights, and it had been scaring the local wildlife. That was what prompted this whole thing in the first place. 

“Let’s just get to work shall we?” 

Melog gave a low meow, sounding impatient. Catra didn’t come out here all unarmed. Though the situation didn’t feel dangerous, she didn’t survive the Fright Zone by taking strange occurrences, aka pre-threats, lightly. With the end of the war and the fall of the Horde, most shock sticks were destroyed or too damaged for repair. Even if she had one, too many bad memories were linked to those weapons, she wouldn't use it. Still, she would feel better to have one now because this staff she had didn't feel quite as reassuring. 

The path Catra was on looked clear. In fact, it widened. Her eyes narrowed. This part of the quadrant was supposed to be nothing but wild jungle and shit. Why was there even a path to begin with? 

She couched and examine the ground. It had been raining for days and days. Though it had stopped today, she’d expect the ground to be wet and squelching underfoot. Instead the mud was hard packed into the ground, not all the way dry but easy enough to walk on. Given the malleability of mud, it picked up tracks easily. Instead of the small hoof marks or paw prints from larger predators, there were tracks. Tracks that looked like they belonged on machines, heavy machines.

What were machines doing here? Who was controlling them?

“Come on, Melog,” she said, dusting dried mud off her knees. “Let’s see where this leads. Maybe something exciting will happen huh?”

Melog grunted, non-committal but with the distinct impression of “be careful of what you wish for”.

* * *

Said excitement didn’t take long to appear.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Catra panted as she ran in a wide circle around the Machine. Her arm wrapped around her ribs as every step she took sent sharp stabbing lances of lightning up her side. The pain made breathing hard, which in turned made running more difficult, but she couldn’t afford to slow down, not if she wanted to live. 

The damn thing was huge. With tracks in place of wheels, it crunched over all manner of impediments — rocks, trees, and if she wasn't careful, one Catra and Melog too. A myriad of grips lined its edges, stretching out to try and grab her. One arm swung out, slicing through the air. Catra lunged and threw herself forward, rolling and coming up on her feet again on the other end. Ignoring how her body ached from all the tumbles she had taken, she forced herself on. Melog kept pace, darting in to bite one of the arms, but their efforts was continuously thwarted as another arm came to swipe at them forcing them to back away. 

This _wasn’t_ the kind of excitement she was looking for. 

They stumbled upon the Machine in the middle of what could only be called a junkyard. Dead and broken machines from the war were scattered all around. The Machine, twice as large as one of the Horde’s tanks, rumbled around the space. Its many grips picking up pieces and discarding them as it selected which pieces it wanted. Three arms worked together to solder two pieces of metal together, another pair ripped a broken machine apart for parts. What exactly was it trying to do Catra had no clue. It made more sense not to disturb it and report back to camp. This looked like a situation that needed Entrapta’s expertise. Hell, maybe it wasn’t hostile?

If anyone should give the Machine a chance, it had to be Catra. She knew all about second chances. 

Well, that thought went out of her head. When Melog barely got a growl of warning out of their mouth as an arm sneaked up on them. A three fingered metal grip clamped down around her ankle. Catra yelped. One moment she was upright and attempting to flee, the next she was hanging upside down. Melog growled at the Machine, looking for an opportunity to attack. 

“Watch out!” Catra cried. Heart caught in her throat, she only heaved in relief when Melog danced out of the way. of an arm swinging their way. An urgent “hang on” pricked the back of her mind. Though she had a snarky response just on the tip of her tongue, she saved her strength to pry her ankle loose from the Machine’s grip. 

Claws extended, she scratched and twisted. The Machine realised what she was doing blared an alarm, and the smaller machines it was trying to fix and cobble together, shuddered to life. Red lights flickering on as engines powered up with a high pitched whine. Pistons hissed and gears churned as sharp implements lashed out cutting down the smaller trees that were in its way, forcing Melog to back away.

“Oh fuck!” 

The Machine had been trying to fix them up. Thankfully, as Catra did a rough count hanging upside down, there weren’t many functional ones. Probably five or so smaller machines that were limping around trying to get Melog. If left alone, the Machine wouldn’t take long to repair and clobber together enough to attack the camp and level it. And then moved on to the other villages.

Catra’s head pounded with the intensity of blood rushing to her head. She couldn’t hang around — yes, yes very funny, pun so intended — here any longer, she had to do something. Bending at the waist, her core muscles tightened, she reached up once more to the clamp around her ankle and forcibly bend one of the three fingers out of the way. With that tiny bit of wriggle room, she pulled her foot free. Claws sank into the metal arm, Catra held on to keep herself from falling. Rotated her ankle, she was pleased to find that though it hurt, it was tolerable. Thank fuck for her boots. 

The Machine roared and shook. A second arm swinging towards Catra. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself up onto the arm. Balancing on that narrow unsteady platform for a moment, she studied the incoming arm and leapt. Despite being metres off the ground, Catra trusted her ability to land on her feet. The arm swooshed by so close one of its finger grazed her cheek as it went by, drawing a thin line of blood. No matter, she was clear. Flipping around in mid-air, she braced for the landing. 

A flash of sliver, glinting against Etheria’s sun, snaked out towards her. A high pitched whine caught her ears as an arm sliced through the air like a scream. Catra’s breath caught in her throat. Mid-drop, there was nothing she could do. An arm slammed into her chest. Catra coughed as pain burst across her ribs. The arm sent her sailing through the air. She steeled herself for the impact, but no amount of preparation was going to ease the agony of having her flight truncated abruptly by a solid tree trunk. She fell face first down, and everything went black. 

* * *

A growl rang out right by her ear. Catra flinched and staggered to her feet. Fire flared across her side. Breathing was impossible, every expansion and contraction of her ribs sent lightning across her chest. She groaned and shook her head to clear her fuzzy vision — an epic mistake if there ever was one. Unlike migraines that crippled her in the worst of times, this was different. Catra could feel her brain throbbing in her skull, protesting at the sudden change in motion, wobbling like jelly, overwhelmed by everything. Another growl, a weight pressed up against her side, supporting her unsteady feet, topped it off with a solid helping of "hurry up, it's here" slapped her mind. The rumble of the Machine echoed across the jungle. 

“Okay, okay. I’m up,” Catra panted. She ignoring the scratches across her arms and dusted the dirt off her sleeveless hoodie and black leggings with a huff. Wrapping an arm around her middle, she ran. 

* * *

The longer Catra ran, the slower she got. Melog could only do so much interference with so many arms to keep track of. Thank fuck the smaller machines were falling back. Then fear seized Catra’s throat. What if they were just breaking off to flank them? Or worse what if they were headed for the camp? 

Fuck.

Glancing over her shoulder, Catra considered her options. 

> Option one: Race back to the camp and risk leading the Machine back with her. 
> 
> Option two: Disable it and pray Adora would take care of the smaller ones. 

Both sounded fucking awful. There was barely any choice here at all. Jaw set, Catra had committed to atoning for her mistakes. She wasn’t about to start by leading trouble back to the others. 

Her hackles pricked up. She caught a flash of metal headed her way. Her gut tightened, and she rolled. Claws scrambling against the ground, stumbling and staggering as her ribs flared with a white hot fire. Her tail lashed out behind her, saving her from literally eating dirt. Sweat dampened her skin, flattening her hair. Her ears twitched to catch every scrape, every hiss of pistons pumping, for it meant life and death now. 

As the sun struck the Machine just right, Catra spotted it. There! Right in the heart of the mess of arms was a glowing red eye. Catra wasn’t Entrapta — who could probably deactivated the thing just with a couple of taps on her datapad. Hell, she wasn’t Adora either. She had none of the power, none of the sheer strength to just cut this fucking thing to pieces. She wasn’t Bow with his tech skills or… well bow expertise. She wasn’t Glimmer filled up to her ass with sparkly magicky shit. And despite all that, Catra knew a fucking weak point when she saw one.

Red — checked. Glowing — checked. Protected — big fucking check. 

Catra might be nobody but herself — plain old fucking Catra — who had nothing when she was born and less since then. But she had sharp wits and a sharper tongue to go with claws, fangs and an unmatched agility. She’d make do. 

If Catra blinded that glowing red eye, it would be a fuck lot of easier to deal with. And _if_ — a big fucking if — she was lucky, the brains of the damn thing would be just underneath. 

“Melog!” Catra shouted. “Distract it!”

Melog reacted instantly, slowing and loping back around the Machine. Catra prayed they understood what she had intended because truth be told they didn’t know each other for all that long. It was not like they had fucking practise runs before they were launched in an all out war against Prime. And right fucking now, there could be no room for error, not a fucking inch. 

Melog’s powerful muscles rippled underneath their burgundy skin, their blue mane flattened against their body as they weaved in, out and between the arms trailing after them. Arm after arm smashed themselves into the ground just scant inches away from them. The ground was pock-marked with holes big enough to lose an apple or two down. The Machine roared, its voice screeching like ball bearings ground between razor shape blades in its metal throat. Torn between the slower, juicier Catra shaped target and the faster and clearly more dangerous Melog, the Machine slowed. Arms jerked between the two targets. The governing intelligence couldn’t decide. 

Yes! Catra could work with this. She grinned through the fire burning in her thighs, the sheer white heat of her ribs. She reached to her back and yanked her staff from its harness. Judging by the way her back twinged, her back definitely bore a bruise the exact length and width of that fucking stick. Now, she had to get her ass up on the Machine and smash that fucking eye. 

Melog growled, their yowl louder enough that the Machine directed its eye at them. They raked their claws across an arm, ripping it from the Machine’s body. With a quick jump it avoided another pair of incoming arms and pounced back in to sink their teeth down on one, crushing metal and breaking circuits. The Machine turned towards Melog. 

Teeth gritted, Catra twisted in the opposite direction. Her lungs laboured to keep up. Every time her chest expanded, she could feel bones shifting under her skin. Something was definitely broken, but still it shouldn’t be _that_ fucking hard to just breathe, right? With a growl, she took the pain and packed it away, shoving it to the furtherest corners of her mind. She didn't have the fucking time to coddle or feel sorry for herself. With staff in hand, she slapped the arms out of her way and attempted to launch herself onto the Machine's body using it as a vaulting stick. Slowed by the pain and a sudden wave of vertigo made her faltered. 

This never happened before, never fucking ever. 

One mistake, all it took was a tiny microscopic fucking mistake and a pair of arms caught hold of her staff. She dangled in the air, pulled up because she didn't let go of the staff. 

But... 

Catra glanced down and saw how the trampled ground bowled out in strange undulating waves. She shook her head. The brain pitched a fit, and her gorge rose. What was happening to her? She was fine with heights, had always been fine. In fact, she preferred them. 

It didn’t matter. They were just another two sensations shoved screaming and crying into the corner. She was going to have to wing it. Flipping up, she swung herself upside down — what a great idea — and gripped one of the two arms with her thighs and twisted. She didn't possess the strength like Adora to break metal with her thighs — oh yeah, ha, ha, ha — but she managed to wrench her staff free. With only one arm left gripping it, she swung dizzily upon that pivot. Using her weight, she tugged. Then, she and her staff came free right over the Machine's body exactly as planned— 

Catra's feet thumped against the Machine's sleek metal body and promptly lost her balance. Booted feet found no purchase. As the pair of arms came swiping at her, taking skin and clothes off her back in long slices, Catra jammed her claws into the metal. The momentum nearly ripping her nails from her hands. Somehow, some-fucking-how, she managed to keep from sliding off, but her staff went clattering over the edge. Cold sweet broke out over her body. This had been too close. 

With arms trembling from the effort, Catra climbed back onto the Machine's back. The Machine roared again, that same metallic scream of a million ball bearings dying a horrible death, as it tried to buck her off. But she had put in too much effort to get on top — get your fucking mind out of the damn gutter — she wasn't about to lose her grip now. 

Inch by painful inch, grunting and panting, sweat stinging her eyes, Catra clawed her way to the front where the eye was. Fingers clinging onto the rim of the edge, she lay belly flat right above it. She held her breath waiting for one moment of stillness. And then she struck. Rearing up, she punched down on the eye. Her knuckles bounced off the protective plexi cover. Electricity lanced up her arm. Hissing, Catra hit it again and again and again. First, it shattered. Then, it broke. Her fist all bloody and cut up by the splintered shards of plexi, but she kept going. For all her efforts, she barely made a hole large enough for her hand, let alone her arm to fit. 

The Machine bellowed. The noise was a steel spike stabbing Catra right into her skull. She couldn’t afford to even have the meagre sound insulation of clapping her hands around her ears lest she fell off. Flattening her ears against her head as best she could, she kept punching. Her fist had gone completely numb, while her other hand trembled from the effort of keeping her on her perch. 

The Machine shuddered as Catra buried her arm right into the broken socket. Clinging onto the small lip, she rummaged around, heedless of the way the gears tore up her arm and circuit boards cut lines into her flesh. It groaned like a dying beast, but a beast when cornered was at its most dangerous. 

Even blinded, the Machine wasn’t completely disabled. Its other sensors, whatever they were, still worked just fine. From her perch, Catra could see Melog danced with a deadly partner — partners more accurately. Arms whipped out, venturing out to foul Melog’s steps, passing their broken siblings that littered the ground. Melog growled and snarled, drawing the Machine’s attention. But how could one expect an intelligence, any intelligence, to ignore an imminent threat hanging off its fucking head?

The arms withdrew from the chase Melog led them on, instead they stilled for a split second before snapping their attention to Catra. Fear seized her chest and squeezed, but there was no running away this time. She yanked anything and everything she could get from inside. Prayers were for the devout and for fools. She was neither. Despite metal snakes, that could tear her apart, bore down on her, she kept at it. This was her own salvation. Shoulders set, back hunched over, her fingers closed around something inside. She couldn’t see what it was. The arms were coming at a speed she had no hope of avoiding. It was now or fucking never. 

“Only one way to find out,” she hissed and ripped it free. 

Catra held still, not because she had finally ran out of strength, but because the arms were mere inches from her face. Keen edged and vicious, the arms snapped to a halt just shy of her jugular. She gulped and turned slowly, finding herself hemmed in on all sides. The arms poised to punch through her skin, flesh and bones. 

Melog snarled loudly, trying but failing to get the Machine’s attention. Then, it shuddered like it was cold. Its arms twitched and, without warning, fell to the ground. The Machine sighed and went still. 

“It worked,” Catra laughed, high pitched and filled with incredulity. “It fucking worked.” She slumped onto her back on the sloping top of the Machine. Her chest expanded and contracted painfully as she tried to catch her breath.

Melog yowled loudly. Catra didn’t want to move, she didn’t have any energy _to_ move. But they refused to be deterred and yowled louder.

Catra braced herself up on her elbow to glare at Melog. She felt it then. A vibration coming from within the Machine. But it was dead as dead could be. The lights went out for this damn thing. She was fucking sure. 

Melog yowled, their intention clear as day now — get the fuck up and off of there now! 

Catra moved like she had never moved before. Pain ignored, exhaustion shunted aside, dizziness wished away. She slid off the slanted top of the Machine and landed lightly on her feet only to have her ribs screamed in protest. One arm wrapped around her chest, she ran. The vibrations growing stronger, turning into full fledged tremors. 

Melog kept paced next to her. Light, so bright it blinded her, overtook them. An intense heat warmed her back. Then, a rush of air threw her forward, and everything went black a second fucking time. 

* * *

Catra was drowning. Her chest heaved and water flooded into her lungs. Fuck. Legs kicking, hands paddling, she tried to orient herself. Which way’s up? Which way’s down? In the cold and dark water, it looked all the same. But— 

A voice echoed down through the depths. “—of greyskull.”

Catra recognised those words. She spun and orientated herself. 

“Come on, come—” The voice came again. 

Gentle heat prickled across her skin. Warmth spread across her chest, comfortable, nice but yet intangible. Catra chased the feeling like a horrible game of hot and cold, but the sensation faded too quickly. And she was drowning all over again. 

“Heal! Why won’t you—” The voice cried, growing ever more panicked. “Catra, please wake—.”

Adora! Catra knew the voice. Her chest shrank two sizes down and her heart pounded against her ribs. Even within this watery prison, Adora’s voice found her. Cutting in and out like a mirage threatening to disappear at any moment, the wavering in her voice, the way it cracked and broke shifted something within Catra’s chest. She had to stop Adora from sounding this way. It was unbearable listening to it, this was outright fucking torture. She had to—

Legs kicking harder, lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, darkness creeping in from the edges, Catra fought for the surface. And she broke through. 

Everything was blurry. A vague shape hovered over her. Blonde framing pale, blue set in the middle. Catra blinked, trying to force her eyes to focus. As her consciousness floating back down into her body, the fire across her ribs flared to life. She could feel the way her clothes were stuck to her skin, sticky with barely drying blood weeping from the multiple gashes parting her skin. Her head pounded in the familiar refrain of a migraine, spikes slammed home into her skull, made fuzzier by something else more wrong than a migraine. 

Catra blinked again and frowned. The vague shape resolved to a familiar face pinched with worry and fear. She smiled at the face, a half-hearted attempt of one. “Hey Adora.” Two words she had spoke so many times, sometimes calmly, sometimes with malice, but this time with relief. Adora was here, and Catra felt safe. 

Safe enough for darkness to claim her once more. 

* * *

The way back to the camp pressed in blurry images across Catra’s mind, punctuated with acid splashed agony across her nerve endings. Most of all, she remembered the steady warm arms that held her upright, encircling her tight enough so she didn’t slip off but not so tight her body screamed, the solid chest she lay against, the steady albeit slightly faster than usual thud-thud of a heart rate beating against her back as clouds streaked past them. A voice continuously whispering words of comfort against her ear as she drifted in and out of consciousness. 

The next time Catra surfaced, she was falling. She flinched and jerked. 

“It’s fine. I’ve got her,” someone said. 

Catra stiffened. She didn’t know the voice. Her will had no room here. Arms held out and received her as her safe place released her. Voices loud and frantic swirled. Motion jarred her body, and she cried out, weakly, feebly. Shit, she shouldn’t have done that. Shadow Weaver would whip her. She had to be silent. This wasn’t pain, it was a feeling to be ignored, to be hidden away. She didn’t want Shadow Weaver to drag her to that room — no, no, no — not the room with the devices, with the gem, with the table that held her down as electricity burnt her memories away over and over and over…

And Catra sank, back down into the darkness that threatened to keep her there forever. 

The third time when Catra woke, she clung into it with claw and tooth. White sheets were hung around her, blocking everything but the ceiling from view. Her bed was hard as a plank against her shredded back. The lightning white agony was thankfully muted, her body tingled with a numbness of nerve endings overwhelmed and in shock. The crook of her inner elbow hurt. She lifted her arm to find a needle embedded there. Clear tubing leading off to a bag over her head. She remained in her blood stained clothes. 

Motion played against the sheets, shadows cut the air with curt sharp motions. Voices hissed, low but no less urgent. Chief among them was Adora’s voice. “I can't heal her,” she said. The words fell from her lips limp and defeated. 

“But—” A second voice, one that Catra’s scattered thoughts refused to place. 

“Look I don't know why. Just please help her. I found her...” Adora took a deep shuddering breath. 

Catra’s fingers twitched, and her arm moved unbidden. She didn't want to hear Adora like that, not over her, not because of her. Teeth gritted, she tried to brace herself up using her elbow. Something in her chest shifted, bone ground against bone. Something was where it shouldn’t, and it got infinitely hard to breathe. She cried out against the sharp spike lancing through her side. The voices stilled instantly. As Catra took shallow breaths to see her way through the pain, the sheets were yanked apart. Adora entered. 

Their eyes met for a split second before the flurry of motion that followed disrupted it. Adora reached out and held her hand as she slowly eased Catra back onto the bed. The camp doctor that hated Catra, Marshall, came over with a medical scanner and stood on the opposite side of Catra. She waved the device over Catra. A third, one of Marshall’s assistant, Ivory, took position at Catra’s feet. 

Catra’s breath caught painfully within her chest. She coughed — hard. Her body jerked and shifted with the force of it. Each one felt like a tiny explosion underneath her ribs. An inferno, white hot and blazing, ripping across her chest, threatening to sunder her. Her lungs fluttered uselessly. And worst of all, there was naught to do but to endure as her chest expanded and contracted suddenly, forcefully. Tears pricked at the corners of Catra’s eyes. Then, something wet, hot and metallic spurted from her lips onto Adora’s arm. The look Adora gave her — horror, fear and untidily hidden panic — would have made Catra scared if she wasn’t busy trying to stop coughing. 

“Do something!” Adora cried as she cradled Catra. 

Marshall’s lips twisted as she looked at Catra. Maybe she wasn’t happy with the state of her patient, maybe she was just inconvenienced by the fact Catra wasn’t dead, Catra couldn’t tell which. When the cough finally subsided, Catra felt utterly exhausted and spent.

Marshall grunted. “I can’t.”

Adora’s jaw tightened. Catra’s ears twitched, catching the minute grinding of enamel against enamel. “She saved us. If she hadn’t stop the big one, the camp would have been destroyed. The smaller ones were only a distraction. We owe our lives to Catra. I know you hate her, I know she hurt so many, but can’t you see she has changed, and she is just trying her best?”

“I meant,” Marshall cut in, her eyes flashing to meet Adora's head on without flinching. “I can’t, not that I won’t. The camp doesn't have the facility or the equipment to fully diagnose her problems.”

“But she is coughing up blood,” Adora growled, her body shook with an intensity, Catra had never seen. Adora was scared, more so than when Catra threw the switch and opened the Portal, more so than when Prime arrived on Etheria, more so than anything Catra could ever remember. She didn't want Adora to be scared, this was nothing she couldn't sleep off. After all wasn’t that the way of the Horde? First aid were for pussies — har-dy har, laugh it up for the unintentional puns.

Marshall ignored Adora. Instead, she jerked her head at her assistant. Ivory stepped quickly to her side. “I need to get her shirt off. Shears.”

Catra stiffened. “What—“

Adora was way ahead of her. “What are you trying to do? She needs help, if you’re not willing, I’m going to ride to Bright Moon now. They have the facilities to help Catra.”

“She won’t make it.”

Catra panted. The coughing fit had done something. Her breath grew thin and wheezy. Her lungs sounded like she had rocks in there, rolling around in fluid. Slowly but surely, her thoughts grew fuzzy and darkness edged in like spiders spinning webs over her eyes until she wouldn’t be able to see again. 

“What do you mean?” Adora demanded. 

Yeah what the fuck do you mean, Catra thought. She didn't have the breath to speak it. 

Ivory handed Marshall the medical shears and she announced, “Cutting.”

Shrrrk went the shears, and it sliced through Catra’s blood soaked sleeveless hoodie in a single motion. The two halves were still stuck to her skin, glued there by gummy dried blood, but it parted enough to reveal the plain black sports bra that Catra wore. Another snip and the bra was sliced through as well. Someone needed to get her some new clothes because she had just lost her favourite set. 

Thunder rumbled somewhere outside and a gust of wind set the sheets swaying. Overhead, rain started pattering down upon the tent. Goosebumps woke across Catra’s skin, and she shivered. The motion wasn't as bad as a coughing fit, but it wasn't pleasant either. Adora squeezed her hand, unable to even hold her because of all the open, bleeding wounds from the explosion — the Machine's little final fuck you to Catra. 

A small basin of water sloshed up by Catra's side, no doubt provided by Ivory. “Help me,” Marshall said. This was directed at Adora. Catra was in no position to help anyone lest of all herself.

Bit by bit, they trickled water over Catra, soaking into her clothes. The water ran red as it dissolved the blood. Fingers tugged gently at her sliced up clothes, peeling it back from her skin. Catra recognised the clinical touch of Marshall, the ginger, almost scared brush of Ivory. Adora's stood out the most. The rough pads of her fingers and palms, no doubt from practising with the Sword and what training they had done together back in the Horde. The way they trembled as she pulled torn fabric from Catra's quivering skin, the way they hesitated when she hissed, the way she pressed her palms against Catra's skin where it remained unblemished, to still her shivering, to provide comfort, to say "I'm sorry I have to do this." 

“Hurry up,” Marshall snapped. “There is no time for whatever this is.” She worked the last bit of fabric from Catra’s torso, leaving her bare chested. She pushed against one of Catra's breast, it stretched the skin against her ribs taut on one side. “Look.”

Catra gasped and held still. “It's blue. Her skin is blue,” Adora declared.

“Bruises,” Catra explained, her head growing hot and her hearing kind of switched off. The pain spread, hot lava coursed through her veins, reaching over her chest towards her shoulder and back. Gasping, she fought for air. She could bear it, she would bear it. Adora didn't need to look this sacred. 

“Her lung has collapsed. We need to relieve the pressure inside,” Marshall explained, her hand probing and checking. Catra gave a strangled groan. 

"Please stop, you're hurting her." Adora pulled Marshall's hand away. 

Ivory shrank back, unwilling to get between a Princess — the Princess — and the stubborn doctor. Catra lay there gasping like a fish, clinging onto consciousness. 

"I am not. I am trying to determine which of her ribs is the culprit."

"What for? Adora cried. “You just said you don't have the equipment and supplies to help. I should have taken her straight to Bright Moon.” 

Teeth gritted, Adora cupped Catra’s face. Her hand so warm against Catra’s cool skin. Catra heard it all, but she wasn't sacred, not the way Adora was. She was Catra, she would never die, she couldn't die, not even when she wanted to. How could she when she didn’t want to? "I'll be fine."

Adora didn't look the least bit convinced. Her brow furrowed in that familiar stubborn way. Determination etched into her face. "I will make you better than fine." She turned to go, probably to send Swift Wind to Bright Moon, to get Glimmer to come get them, to do something, anything. Adora was a fixer, that was who she was. And as long as there was something she could do, she would. "I will get you the help you need. I—"

Catra caught Adora’s fingers and squeezed, drawing her attention. “Breathe, Adora,” she said, a watery lopsided smile perched on her lips. “Just breathe, all right?”

Adora gritted her teeth, her eyes shined with unshed tears. Returning the squeeze, she took a deep breath. It rattled through her lungs. When she opened her eyes again, she looked a lot more settled. Marshall made a noise with her tongue against her teeth and looked at them disapprovingly. “I didn’t say I can’t help with this part, but it was going to hurt.”

* * *

Adora tried to breathe. Watching Marshall and Ivory prepped for what was to come scared her more than she could put into words. She held onto Catra’s hand, running a finger over scrapped raw knuckles as gently as she could. Her other hand smoothed Catra’s hair from her face. Stroke after stroke, fingers tugging through that soft fine hair gently. A faint purring came from Catra’s chest. This sound was the single thing keeping Adora from racing out, getting on Swift Wind to make haste towards Bright Moon. 

They were caught with their pants down. Adora had been barely made it back to camp to take out the machines — five she had counted. She hadn’t even thought to go look for Catra because there were so many hurt. Though the injuries weren’t serious, they lost a good bit of their supplies too during the machines' rampage. 

And now… Adora looked at Catra. Her eyes glazed over by whatever sedative Marshall had given her. Catra would pay for it because they lacked not only the equipment — things they didn’t have to begin with, but the medication too — things that they used up or had been destroyed. Her jaw tightened, and Catra’s purring deepened. She turned her head so that her scalp touched Adora’s hand, the contact made that much surer. Guilt made Adora’s lips twist, like she could taste its sour notes on her tongue. 

“Remember, this is only a mild sedative. It is not going to do much but keep her relaxed now. That’s going to change once I start and we can’t stop once I do. Even though this is the only thing we have left, I’m reluctant to even give it to… _her_.” 

Hear the emphasis in Marshall’s voice, Adora couldn’t help but bristle. How much more must Catra do to prove that she had changed? Why was Catra taking all of this lying down? The old Catra wouldn’t have, the old Catra would have screamed and fought and… proved Marshall’s point for her. Adora needed to speak to Marshall about it after this. Even if Catra refused to say anything, to pretend she was fine with these barely veiled comments, Adora knew it wore on her. 

“Why?” Adora asked. “You said it yourself, this procedure is painful, are you—”

“I am not cruel, Adora,” Marshall snapped, meeting her eyes. “I am a doctor, I swore an oath to treat people. Yes, even someone I cannot abide. I am reluctant to do it because she obviously have a concussion. Without imaging equipment to check if she has a brain bleed, the drug might put her into a coma she cannot wake from.” 

Ivory arrived with a small bottle and a syringe — the meagre painkillers they had left. Marshall filled it and stared at it with a critical eye, making sure the levels just right. “But she would need something, otherwise she’d only be flopping around making it impossible to actually help.”

“I’m here, you know?” Catra pipped up, the purring stopped. She shivered. The rain outside had worsened. The tent felt darker and more oppressive when the sun got blotted out by the clouds. 

Adora wanted so much to bundle Catra up in blankets, to hold her and heal her with her damn She-Ra powers. What good were her powers if she could save Etheria but not the one who held her heart? She never felt more helpless when she saw Melog without Catra, when she followed Melog back to where Catra had fallen. How still Catra looked, her chest barely moving, her skin cut to ribbons, her flesh rent apart in battle, her hoodie dark with blood. Adora tried to heal Catra, she really did. What should have been as natural as breathing did absolutely nothing. It shook her to her core. Sure, her powers weren’t always the most reliable, but she had worked out its kinks a long time ago. There she was, panicking as Catra lay there bleeding on the ground. If Catra hadn’t woke for that brief moment, snapping her out of it, would she be dead now? 

Now seeing Catra laying bare chested, bruised and bloodied on the operating table it only meant Adora’s guilt deepen. Jaw tight, she shoved those thoughts to the back of her mind. She had a job to do right now. 

Marshall looked at her. “Are you ready?”

“No,” Adora said. At the same time, Catra replied, “Yes.”

Catra’s ribs was deformed. Now that Adora knew what to look for, it was obvious. One or more ribs had broke and punctured Catra’s lung. The increased air pressure inside made it collapse and made Catra fight for every breath. The wet wheeze and drying blood at the corners of Catra's lips, it made Adora’s breath catch painfully in her chest. 

“Strap her down,” Marshall instructed

Adora’s eyes met Catra’s. A drug induced stillness glazed over those mismatched eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said as she pulled Catra’s left arm up, giving access to Marshall to work. Catra gasped but held still. Adora strapped both Catra’s arms down while Ivory did the same to her ankles. 

The old fear returned. Catra’s breath hitched in a way Adora recognised — tightly suppressed panic and mute terror. Catra’s brow furrowed, she blinked rapidly doing her best to fight her rising fear. What did Catra see behing it? What old memories surfaced to taunt her?

Adora had seen the footages. She had watched what evil, vile things Shadow Weaver had done to Catra. Though she had only found out months, years after, though she had been too far away to help then, it hurt to know what Catra had suffered so much because of her. She left Catra to be punished in her stead. She should have dragged Catra along then. She should have. 

“No,” Catra moaned. She wasn’t here with Adora any longer. It was clear looking at that wide-eyed dread in those mismatched eyes. “Please, Shadow Weaver, I swear I don’t know where Adora went. I don’t know why she left. Please, please!”

The sheer trepidation, the sheer weight of expectation that something bad would happen made Catra’s eyes bright. She struggled and tugged against her bonds. As much as it pained Adora, she held Catra fast. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Words, all she had were words for the pain that was to come. 

Marshall didn’t make a comment. A scalpel flashed in her hand, and she cut into Catra’s side. A short horizontal red line right at the side of her breast, fast and quick and precise. Blood poured from the new wound. Catra was too far gone to hold back. She groaned. Marshall inserted two fingers into the hole she just made. Catra arched her back, shifting away from the intrusion. 

“Hold her down, do you want me to actually make it worse?” Marshall barked. 

Adora renewed pressure on Catra’s shoulders while Ivory did the same over Catra’s legs. Tears poured from Catra’s squeezed shut eyes. 

Marshall probed and shifted her fingers, digging into Catra’s flesh as if hellbent on reaching her heart via that small hole. Catra jerked and gagged and coughed. Blood bubbled from her lips. Marshall’s eyes widened and barked, “Flip her, she cannot choke.”

They quickly freed Catra from her bonds and tilted her onto her side. Blood smeared across the table, soaking into the wood grain, staining it a deep dark red. Catra vomited. A mix of bile, a half digested breakfast she had eaten hours ago — was it really just hours ago — and blood dribbled from her mouth. Marshall continued working. Her focus on her mission was utter. 

Alternating between the scalpel and the finger probing, Marshall finally seemed satisfied. She picked up a clear tube from a sterile packaging and shoved in to Catra’s chest. Catra barely had the strength to do more than whimper by that point. The worse was over when Marshall stitched the wound close. 

Catra clung onto consciousness, her body quivered uncontrollably. Her gaze pain glazed, stared sightlessly at nothing in particular. Adora let go. Her breath hitched at the sight before her. Dark reddish marks formed under her hand over Catra’s shoulders. She had hurt Catra. 

“Good job,” Marshall said. “I didn’t think you had the stomach for this.”

Adora stepped away. She clenched her shaking hands into fists. Taking a couple of shuddering breaths, she forced herself to look away and asked, “What now?”

“Now I clean and stitch the rest of her wounds,” Marshall replied. She cast a critical eye on Catra’s bare back and arms, all angry red scratches and purple contusions. “She’s a mess.”

Adora stiffened, ready to go again with Marshall. The indignation and anger flared to life quickly. Her patience had frayed, her heart exhausted, she couldn’t bear to hear one more word against Catra, not when she lay so broken, so hurt at the service of others. Marshall’s eyes flicked up to meet Adora’s. “I’d take care of her,” she stated simply, without sarcasm or malice. 

Adora’s eyes narrowed. Marshall had always been critical of Catra, of her intentions, of her actions, of well everything. Why the flip? 

“I know, I know. I might have been too harsh on…” Her eyes lingered on Catra. She shifted to inject something into Catra’s IV. Catra’s trembling subsided after a little while. “Painkillers,” she explained. Taking a deep breath, she broke open a pack of antiseptic and started to apply them over Catra’s wounds, the smaller ones that wouldn’t kill her, the larger ones that would get infected if they were tended to. Catra lay on the table with her eyes closed, hopefully resting and not suffering in silence. “I might have been wrong about her.”

“You have,” Adora insisted. She held onto Catra’s slack hand and watched over Catra because that was all she could do. 

* * *

Catra came up for air again. The darkness falling away like water off her skin. She kept her eyes closed and enjoyed the feeling. Her body buzzed with a pain kept far away by analgesics. Being drugged up wasn’t something she particularly enjoyed, but it beats suffering. Something shifted next to her, a warm weight pressed up against her side, purring so strong the bed was vibrating. A bed? She spread her fingers and touched the surface she laid on. Soft, pillowy and she was sinking into it. Yes, she was actually lying on an actual bed this time. Her back thanked her for it, her bare back. 

She frowned and peeled one eye open. Everything looked fuzzy. Then, the other. Curtains of translucent white fabric swayed a little in the breeze. They diffused the light coming in from the large wide windows that span from ceiling to floor. 

Bright Moon. She was in Bright Moon, but how did she get here? 

Catra shifted, trying to sit up, but she found her arms pinned to her sides. The blanket had been wrapped so securely around her, over her shoulders, leaving only her head free, she had no hope of getting free. Well, no unless she wanted to rip the blanket to shreds. Glimmer wouldn’t appreciate it, and she was a little too comfortable for fabric ripping. Feeling around with her hands, oh yes, she was definitely topless below the blanket. At least they allowed her to keep her pants so that’s a win. Turning her head slowly, she found Melog pressed up against one side. Their body stretched out along Catra’s entire length. Melog turned and slow blinked at her. “Rest.” And without waiting for her to comply, they sighed and lay their head back down again. 

Catra turned to the other side, feeling something tickling the side of her neck, and she got a face full of blonde strands. Of course, it was Adora. Shifting what little she could in that tight swaddle, she stared at Adora. Mouth open, snoring lightly, Adora lay almost half way to falling out of the bed. As large as this bed appear to be, it wasn’t enough for all three of them. Plus Adora maintained an oddly wide gap between them. Typically when they shared a bed, Adora would have her arms around her like an octopus, making it impossible to get out of bed without disturbing her. This distance felt odd. 

Catra sighed. Starring at the ceiling of the canopy bed, she tried to rummage through her memory. It was as filled with holes as some of her shitty clothes back when she was growing up in the Fright Zone. Shadow Weaver didn’t believe in keeping them clothed. The mission, the Machine, the fight, and that was when things got fuzzy. Pain had a way of doing that to her, but she definitely remember hurting all over. Being pinned down and then… more pain. Catra winced and hurriedly shoved that thought back into the corner. Adora’s face flashed prominently in her memories. Blonde hair falling over her face as she looked down upon Catra. Those blue eyes looked so scared. That made Catra’s heart lurched sideways all over again, and she couldn’t help but jerked in response. 

That was a mistake.

A strangled croak escaped Catra's clamped shut lips despite her attempts to muffle it. Adora bolted upright instantly. The whites in those blue eyes widened with fear and panic as Adora stared at her. Catra couldn’t help but noticed the dark rings around Adora’s eyes. 

How long had she been out? A sinking feel took hold in her guts. 

Catra had lost time before. Long swathes of days, weeks, months and years erased with a press of a button by Shadow Weaver. And not just time, but memories she would never retrieve, or they would return in drips and drabs, out of context, out of order. If she could excise the memories of those experiments from her mind, she would. Catra shuddered — another mistake — because her body started to ache and not in a pleasant way.

“You’re awake!” Adora blurted before averting her gaze.

Catra’s brow furrowed almost instinctively at it, but before she could address it, Adora stood. “I should inform the doctor. I should tell Glimmer and Bow.”

“Wait!” Catra called out. Her body might hurt, but with the analgesics and her high pain tolerance, she could bear it. What she couldn’t was how her bladder pressed uncomfortably with the need to void itself. “Can you get me out of this? I really need to pee.”

Adora worked quickly. First she got Melog off the bed so that the blanket wasn’t pinned down. Then she unwrapped Catra like one would one of those rolled up cakes Entrapta loved so much. When the blankets were off, Catra realised her entire chest and arms were wrapped with bandages, electrodes were stuck on where bare skin was available and these led to a monitor somewhere off to the side. An IV hung empty on a stand. And the most alarming thing was the plastic tube sticking out of her chest. 

Catra realised that's the same side Adora had been sleeping on, protecting her. That's why she hadn't had her arms around Catra. One by one, Catra pulled the electrodes off while Adora carefully disconnected the IV. She capped both ends of the connector to keep them sterlie. 

"You're awfully familiar," Catra remarked. 

Adora blushed. "I had to do this a few times because we had to change your dressing."

Catra pursed her lips. How long was she out? Days? Weeks? Was that why Adora looked so tired? 

She swallowed her questions and tried to get a move on. Gallingly, her body moved at the speed of a snail dragging Adora's sword. Every new shift and motion made her hiss and wince. Adora took one look and slipped an arm under Catra’s knees and another under her back and stood. 

“Put me down,” Catra protested. “I can walk.”

Adora stared at Catra, her expression flat, disbelief plastered all of her face. 

All right, all right, Catra could admit, in the privacy of her mind, that maybe walking was a bad idea, but as a matter of policy, she needed to assert her independence. Just in case anyone forgot about it. 

Adora ignored her feeble protests and walked towards the ensuite bathroom — thank fuck nobody needed to see her being treated like an invalid, even though she actually was one — without breaking a sweat. Just the act of Adora carrying her made her feel a little hot under the collar — if she had a collar to be hot under. The way her arms held Catra, the sheer security she felt. After the terror of the surgery, Catra needed it in a way she couldn't put into words. Gingerly, Catra leaned her head into Adora's chest, almost as if she didn't dare to. Her ear pressed into Adora's skin, she listened to the steady thud-thud underneath. It steady the vague sense of uneasiness she had since the Machine loomed into her view.

“I can walk,” she muttered. 

Adora hummed. Even Melog who was padding alongside them snorted with incredulity. Fine, she had no allies here. Adora tucked Catra's head under her chin. The pressure against her head, eased the tightness in her chest instantly. This was nice, really nice, even if it hurt. 

"We're here," Adora said. Her voice echoed oddly in the bathroom, fuller, deeper somehow.

White tiles lined the walls and floor. A large mirror was mounted to one wall while windows lined the other. A huge tub dominated the middle. The one thing Catra had eyes for was the toilet bowl on the far end of the bathroom. 

“How long was I out?” Catra asked. 

Adora didn’t answer right away. Instead, she gently sat Catra down on top of the toilet bowl’s down turned cover. “A couple of days,” she finally spoke. “You passed out after Marshall’s surgery. While she stitched you up, I sent Swift Wind to Bright Moon to alert Glimmer. They got a medical team ready to receive you. You didn’t wake when Glimmer teleported you to Bright Moon. You didn’t wake when they got you prep for surgery.”

“Another one?”

Adora nodded, her gaze directed to the floor. Guilt poured from her pores. If guilt could be made physical, they’d have a mess on their hands now. Inky black oil oozing out of Adora's skin like goo. A slimy thing coating the floor and walls, covering the big fucking ass windows to hide her perceived shame. Catra held her tongue. 

“They cut into you. They pull your skin apart and reached in. Metal pieces to put your broken ribs back together properly again." All of this Adora said with a flat voice as if she was reporting to Hordak. "Marshall told me all this. I didn't understand all of it but enough."

The fucking guilt again. Catra had enough of it. “Stop that,” she rasped.

Adora took on guilt and responsibility as easily as breathing. It was infuriating. For all Catra loved her blonde dumbass, it was times like this she wished Adora would be a little less like the hero everyone held her up to be and a little more human. There had to be a limit how much a person could be responsible for. 

"Just fucking stop that." Bracing her elbows against her knees, the posture stretched her back. It was a terrible idea. Catra hissed and Adora looked stricken instantly. “Yes that, stop that,” she snapped, a finger pointed at Adora’s face. 

“I don’t understand, it’s my—”

“Fault,” Catra completed Adora’s sentence. “Is everything your fault? Over and over again you take my agency away from me by claiming responsibility for everything that happened. I had so little of it as it is, can’t you let me have this? The years under Shadow Weaver’s thumb — no, foot — then Hordak's and then Prime's. I barely could decide _if_ I'd get to live, let alone _how_ to live. Now that I can, you want take it away from me too?”

Adora shook her head, her hair catching the light just right it took Catra’s breath away even when she was pissed as fuck, even when she sorely wanted to shake Adora by her shoulders just to drive the point home. Catra was doomed, she knew it long ago, she just didn’t expect it to come in the form of a woman she didn’t want to live without. But that was besides the point. Betraying none of that, Catra hardened her face. She needed Adora to stop doing this. She needed Adora to understand. 

“Then are you saying I do not know what dangers I’d face when I fought the Machine?”

“No, but—”

“Are you saying you ordered me to fight the Machine?”

“No. Catra, it’s—”

“Are you saying you sent me to scout out that area, knowing the Machine was there?”

“No, it’s still my—”

“Are you going to look at me in the eyes and tell me I have zero agency? Over my decisions, over my actions, over my body, over my damn fucking life?”

“No!” Adora shouted, her nostrils flared wide as her chest heaved. 

Catra panted, trying to catch her breath, hiding how her ribs hurt from the effort. “Then why are you so intent on taking on all responsibility?” Her voice soft. “How is it _your_ fault? This is nobody’s fault. It is just fucking bad luck.” 

Adora’s teeth ground against each other, but she held her tongue. Catra nodded inwardly. Good, at least she got the message. “Sure I could have ran, back to the camp and warn them, leading the Machine back while I’m at it. Then, they watch them squander away the time trying to decide if they’d believe me. Or I could have taken on all the machines, big and small, and probably die in the attempt.” Adora winced at that admission. “But the fact still stands. Regardless of what I choose and have chosen, I — me and me alone — get to choose and take responsibility for _my_ actions. That has been what I am trying to do all this time, to atone for all the shit I’ve done wittingly and unwittingly, to fucking set things right. Stop taking that away from me. They are all mine.”

It hurt for Catra to say it, it hurt for Adora to hear it, but this was necessary. 

Pressing a hand against her chest, Catra bit back a groan. Her chest hurt like one of those arms smacked her again. Adora remained motionless, her gaze directed to the tiled floor once again. 

Grunting, Catra stretched her arms out to brace herself against the wall to stand. Her legs shook but they held. This weakness was infuriating. She tugged at the drawstrings of her pants, also not her own, no idea whose clothes she was wearing, and fought to free the knot with one hand. Sadly, she was losing the damn battle, succeeding only in tightening the stupid thing further. 

“A little help here?”

Adora flinched as if slapped. “Sorry, yes.” She sank to her knees and picked at the knot. If Catra had the capacity to consider the situation, she would have teased Adora, but the words from her outburst still reverberated in the air. It just didn’t feel right. 

Adora’s warm fingers hooked around the hem of Catra’s pants and tugged them down to her knees. Catra sat back down on the bowl and relieved herself. This would have been all kinds of awkward and weird if they weren’t former members of the Horde. Growing up, they didn’t have much, but they had each other. Taking a shower together was the norm since they had to share what little water and soap they had. Dressing and undressing together made sense because Shadow Weaver wasn’t going to wait for anyone who was late just because they had to change in a seperate room by themselves. So this was pretty much normal for them. Life in the Horde had cured either of them of being shy about nudity. 

Catra cleaned up and pulled her pants on. As she tried to knot her pants up, Adora pushed her hands away and did it. The simple piece of white string was folded and wrapped neatly and then double knotted — exactly how it was before. It was also why Catra had so much trouble with it. She smiled, realising who exactly had been dressing her while she was unconscious. 

Staggering a little, Catra shuffled out of the bathroom and headed back towasds bed. Melog flanked her, pressing up against her leg, supporting her weight a little. Adora kept close, but she remained silent. When Catra sat down, Adora stood an arm’s length away, her head slightly bowed, her shoulders slumped looking for all the world like a beaten puppy. Something in Catra’s chest twisted. Her tail twitched out of the way. With ears flattened against her head, Catra reached out and caught Adora’s fidgeting hands. 

“Come on,” she said. “Sit down.”

Adora allowed herself to be guided to the bed, and they sat side by side for a while. Catra’s fingers brushed over the back of Adora’s hand. Claws sheathed, just the soft pads of her fingers going back and forth. The bed dipped on the other side. Melog had made themselves comfortable. 

“You’re right,” Adora said eventually, her voice so quiet, even Catra might have missed it if they weren’t already sitting shoulder to shoulder.

Catra hummed. The expedition to and from the bathroom had took all the energy out of her. The pain from moving had sapped her strength. Sleep was looking more and more enticing, but she wasn’t going to leave Adora like this. 

Adora lifted her head and met her eyes. Guilt still shimmered in them, but it was a little muted, a little diluted. “You’re right. This isn’t for me to take on. You have made a decision, and you live by the consequences of your actions. I… I can’t be responsible for what you do.”

Catra smiled, a small lopsided one. She was too tired for anything more. “I knew you’d understand.”

“But,” Adora straightened. “But I do feel bad that you got hurt. I do feel responsible for your pain because I couldn’t heal you. I don’t understand why it didn’t work. It should have. Something must be wrong with me. You could have avoided that… surgery.”

Catra squeezed her eyes shut for a bit. Her weight sagging against Adora’s side as she shuddered. “You didn’t know why it didn’t work, you can’t be expected to know,” she said. “You got me help, you saved my life. We can figure out the rest later.” Forcing her spine to straighten, Catra grasped Adora by her shoulders, her claws pressing small indentations into Adora’s skin — though careful to not draw blood. “You did what you think best, and I am here because of you. Remember that.”

Adora’s eyes widened. Tears shimmered in them, colouring her blue eyes brighter. Catra wrapped her arms around Adora, mindful of her own wounds, and hugged her. “You saved my life,” she whispered against Adora’s ear, “again so thank you.”

Adora’s breath hitched, and she pressed her face into Catra’s shoulder, wetting the bandages there. Her tears soaked through them, right down to Catra’s skin. Adora’s body shook with tiny little tremors. The weight behind them shifted. Melog butt their head against Catra’s neck, purring as they went. A large wet, rough as fuck, tongue ran itself over her hair, then down the side of her face. Pinned between Adora and Melog on either side, Catra could do nothing. 

“Stop it,” she protested half heartedly. 

Adora’s shaking took on a different feel while Melog ignored her. When Adora lifted her face, tear streaked and all, Catra’s chest tightened not unpleasantly. Their eyes locked. Shimmering in that expanse of pale skin, Catra felt herself falling into those pools of blue. She freed a hand to brush the tear streaks away. Her hand cupped Adora’s face and she just stared. A gaze so soft, so gentle taking her in — her of all people, not Glimmer, not Bow, not all the many other people around Adora during the Rebellion but her. Diffused light from the windows dappled across Adora’s face, highlighting the planes of her face, dispelling the shadows under her eyes. Even now, Catra couldn’t believe that gaze was directed at her. The anger and the fury, the hurt and the pain from before erased. 

“What would I do without you?” Adora pressed her face against Catra’s hand and then leaned forward to press her lips against Catra’s face. 

Catra chuckled. “Is that all I get? A kiss on the cheek?”

Melog took that opening and ran a tongue down the other side of Catra’s face. She made a face while Adora burst out laughing. Peals of laughter so full, so bright, so present, it drove the silence away. She stared at the woman she loved, and really, _really_ looked. Though Catra’s body had been broken and mended more than she could count, though her soul was all manner of damaged and would probably never fully heal, her heart never felt fuller and her soul more complete. 

Adora smiled and kissed her on her cheek again while Melog licked the opposite check. One after the other like a little game to see who could out do the other, Catra just sat there grinning like a fool thanking her lucky stars for what she had.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on my [Tumblr](https://natsora.tumblr.com/). Kudos and comments are always welcome!


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